


Everything I (N)ever Wanted

by MGNemesi



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, additional notes inside, creepy behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 23:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12119433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MGNemesi/pseuds/MGNemesi
Summary: In the wake of the final battle, Hydra Steve is put in a cell to rot.From there, he asks to see Bucky.Asks specifically for *him*, and for some reason he isn't denied.Steve isn't okay with any of that.‥∵:*:☆*゜★。：：＊☆After-Credit Scene added!!‥∵:*:☆*゜★。：：＊☆





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I legit fear for my life.  
> Also: Hydra Steve is SO NOT STEVE. He uses his physicality to... woo Bucky, in his mind. Touching his face and neck and arms a lot. In truth, he makes him hella uncomfortable. There's no non-con or anything nasty like that, and Bucky is allowed to move away from HS every time he wants AS SOON as he wants. Still, proceed with caution!

  
  


**Title:** Everything I (N)ever Wanted.

 **Author:** Nemesi.

 **Beta:** [Shirokou](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shirokou/profile)

 **Fandom:**  Captain America.

 **Continuity:** Comics verse. Post/Alternate Secret Empire Omega.

 **Genre:** Angst. Romance. 

**Word Count:** 3000 circa.

 **Characters:** Steve Rogers, Hydra Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes. 

**Pairings:** Steve/Bucky and also Hydra Steve/Bucky.

 **Rating:** PG-13/soft R.

 **Disclaimer:** Marvel owns my soul, and also all the characters and themes herein portrayed. I'm putting everything back inside Marvel's sandbox as soon as I'm done playing with their toys.

 **Warnings:** Hydra Steve is his own warning, tbh. So. Some looming, face-touching, arm-touching and hands-kissing, but nothing sexual. Some lines lifted from, or inspired by Secret Empire Omega and Man Out of Time.

 **Notes:** I HAVE NO SYMPATHY FOR HYDRA STEVE. There's no love lost between us. I simply refuse to believe there’s a Steve - ANY Steve - out there, whose soulmate is not Bucky Barnes. ALSO, THIS DOESN’T END _THERE_. I have heart.

 **Summary:** In the wake of the final battle, Hydra Steve is put in a cell to rot.  
From there, he asks to see Bucky.  
Asks specifically for *him*, and for some reason he isn't denied.  
  
Steve isn't okay with any of that.

  
  


* * * * *

  
  


_[He] won't go_

_Where I_

_I would go for you_

_I'd curse my heart_

_For you_

  
  


**_Skin_ ** _–_ _Purple_

  
  


**1 - Bucky**

**H** e asks for Bucky.

Asks _specifically_ for him, and for some reason he isn't denied.

“It's because I'm Captain America,” he says, and Bucky recoils, anger burning hot in the pit of his stomach.

“ _You're not him._ ”

He – this strange Steve, this evil doppelgänger with the soulful eyes and the lines of care etched deeply around his mouth – just smiles at him, all patience, wordlessly remarking that _yes, for all intents and purposes, that's who he is._

Bucky takes a step back, feeling in equal parts vulnerable and defensive. They’re on opposite sides of the cell, and there’s still not enough room between them. He crosses his arms, hands clamping down hard around his elbows. His jaw goes tight enough to hurt. The soulful eyes locked on him soften impossibly. Bucky's stomach is revolting, and yet it's the Steve who belongs to Hydra that looks away first.

“What do you want from me?” Bucky says. His voice is low, but it echoes strangely against the metal walls of the containment chamber. It might have started soft, but it comes back to him with the force of a slap: “ _What do you want from me?_ ”

Steve – Hydra Steve, Fake Steve, Captain Hydra, Leader of the World, Span of Evil, Steve, SteveSteveStevesteve _steve_ – looks up at him from the corner of his eye. His lashes look like spun gold, even at a distance. In the dimness, they glow. As pretty as fireflies. Underneath, his eyes are full of liquid shadows.

Bucky's hands tighten enough that the metal – the bone? - of his elbow creaks. The noise makes Hydra Steve turn back towards him sharply, gauging Bucky with a long, long look before settling back in his crouch against the wall, deceptively harmless.

“I had to see you,” he murmurs after a moment, as if it made sense.

“Well, now _you have!_ ” Bucky snaps, then pivots on his heel and makes for the door but--

“ _I had to see you_!” Hydra Steve repeats, quiet enough for it to be a whisper, but the commanding tone is familiar enough to arrest Bucky – to arrest the very heart in his chest, the breath in his lungs. He turns around with a sigh and a scowl, and Hydra Steve just.

Smiles.

A slow, impossible smile.

He's looking at Bucky like a wanderer might look at a pool of cool water in the desert – with a thirst in his gaze that's strong enough to be felt on the skin. 

“I still can’t believe you’re really alive.” 

“No thanks to you,” Bucky snaps. But for all the venom in his voice, it trembles, noticeably so. He doesn't want to be here. _He doesn't want to be here._ He--

Hydra Steve straightens from his crouch and moves towards Bucky, as slow as molasses. His mountain of a body glides across the slanted slices of light dripping from the ceiling. The Hydra on his naked chest ripples with the movement, lurches blindly in the dark like vermin, a parasite. Bucky feels bile surge in the back of his throat, but when Hydra Steve reaches out--

\--he stands his ground.

Just breathes in deeply when those calloused fingers land on his cheek and then trail down the line of his jaw, the side of his neck, cupping his face, so tenderly, and tilting it up. Hydra Steve's eyes are black vacuums aureoled by the tiniest ring of blue. The pupils flutter as they drink Bucky in, hungry for the sight of him.

 _“I would've brought you back,”_ Hydra Steve avows. _“_ The cube even showed me, for a moment. The _real_ world. Reality as it was supposed to be. You and me, together. Hydra's Rulers. The Shield and the Fist. It lasted only a moment, but it was beautiful. I never wanted anything as much as I wanted to have you at my side, where you belonged.”

Bucky bares his teeth, like a cornered animal.

“So you had me hunted, captured and killed, but the plan was always to bring me back? Sounds like a whole lotta work for _nothing._ ”

Hydra Steve hums, transfixed by how Bucky's pulse feels, drumming under his fingertips.

“I couldn't let you go, but I did owe Helmut something.”

“Did it feel good, to play God with my life?”

“Didn't you ever ask yourself,” Hydra Steve murmurs, “why you had to be my sacrifice, Bucky?” His thumb presses down on the plushness of Bucky's lips, testing their give. “You, and no one else?”

Bucky wrenches his face away.

“Because if you hadn't killed me, I would have stopped you,” he snarls.

Hydra Steve smiles that impossible smile again.

“You would have tried,” he concedes. He touches the star on Bucky's shoulder. Follows the plates of his arm all the way down to the wrist, rubbing his thumb across the cold smoothness of it, searching for the long-gone pulse, like it used to happen a lifetime and several wars ago.

“I wanted you with me,” he says on the next exhale, soft like a man in confessional. Soft like a lover. 

And then, after a quiet heartbeat:

“I wanted all of them with me. Rick. Jack. Thor. Wanda. Hulk. But you... I just _wanted_ you. I wanted you always. I _want you_ now. Forever. My Bucky. My beautiful, beautiful Bucky.”

Bucky's spine goes rigid. The sweat gathering at the small of his back needles him like ice. Hydra Steve's eyes raise to his own, pinning him like an insect to a board.

“I was just an obstacle,” Bucky croaks.

“You are the one I love,” Hydra Steve replies, gentle as anything. 

The world lurches suddenly, tilting under Bucky's feet. He staggers backwards, eyes wide, breathing fast and sharp. But there's a wall behind him, cold and hard; against his front, Hydra Steve is another wall, just as unyielding as the metal one, but pressing steadily closer and pumping warmth like a crackling hearth.

“Those few years we had together at the front were the best of my life. I lied to you, yes. I hid what I was, I hid who I fought for, and I hid what I felt. But I never once lied to myself.

“I wanted you. I wanted you to join Hydra with me. I wanted to steal you away. I had it all planned, you see? I knew you wouldn't bow under Hydra's rule. So once Hydra had won the war, we would've gone into hiding, lived the rest of our lives underground, if that's what it took to keep you with me. I would give everything to Hydra, Bucky. But not you. Not _you.”_

Bucky's hands are between them now. Against Hydra Steve's chest, a measly barrier that refuses to push them apart. He gulps down air that burns his throat like fire.

“That's not true. Nothing of that is _true. That reality was all an invention of Kobik.”_

Bucky's hair is long and soft. Hydra Steve buries his face in the waves of it, breathes in deeply through his nose, nuzzles the skin at Bucky's temple, dewy with perspiration.

 _“_ It was _my_ reality _._ The reality I fought for _._ The reality I died for. The _love_ I died for, _”_ Hydra Steve says. His eyes are incandescent. His focus makes his whole countenance glow like a star. “If you believe nothing else, believe this – You were my one. And I loved you like I never loved anyone else. I love you still, Bucky. And I don't think I'll ever stop.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. It's all he can do to keep himself from thrashing, spitting like a angry cat, trying to wake from the madness of this all.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Hydra Steve touches Bucky's lips again, the lips he remembers drawing hundreds of times, before and after ice, drawing them constantly, like trying to soothe an ache. He exhales softly, and rests his forehead against Bucky's.

“Because I know you love me too.”

At last, Bucky manages the will to wrench himself away.

“I _don't,”_ he spits, all vehemence. Laughter ripples out of Hydra Steve, like poison seeping from a wound.

“Because you love _him?_ Oh, but Bucky--” he reaches out, pushes a single thumb to the hollow of Bucky's throat, deep to the point of pain. “--I _am_ him. What you remember happening in the war? I remember it too. _All of it._ The long marches in the snow. The endless campaigns. The planes whistling overhead. The alarms. The bombs. The fires. The blood. _All that blood._

 _“_ You remember us fighting viciously in the light of day, only to huddle close together in the night, whispering and laughing with the relish of little kids? You remember adoring me so completely you'd follow me anywhere? You remember bleeding for each other, caring for each other, protecting each other? All the little things that made you fall in love with him. _They happened between the two of us, too._

“And the only difference between his reality and mine, his memories and mine? Is that I _knew_ how you felt. I knew that you loved me. And with every touch, every breath, every beat of my heart I _loved you back_. Your Captain? God's shining, perfect soldier. He never knew. He never _saw_ you. He _never._ _Loved. You_.”

Bucky's eyes go wide. They shine, wet and wounded in the dark. His mouth moves soundlessly in the dark.

Hydra Steve steps back, bursting into that poisonous laugh once more.

“You see? You can't even deny it! You know it! You know I'm right. He doesn't love you. He might care for you, like a little brother. But it's _me. Me_ who's been in love with you all this time, Bucky. _Me_ who's noticed you pining in secret. _Me,_ who's waited all along to make you mine.” He surges forward, feverish with his intent, grabbing Bucky's hands in his own, cradling them with such strange care, such tenderness. “Tell me you understand that. You love him, and I _am_ him, and _I love you_. Always and forever. Like he never has. Like he never will!” He pauses long enough to press his mouth, hotly, against the back of Bucky's hands. “We love each other, Buck. We belong together. And I couldn't go another moment without telling you.”

He drops Bucky's hands, fast but with that strange adoring care still, and steps backwards into the teeming shadows. A siren blares from above them, red lights burst suddenly from all around them, knifing the shadows apart.

“Think about it,” Hydra Steve says, stepping back until his shoulders find the wall and then sliding down against it, hands clasped behind his head in surrender. “If the Allies hadn't used the cube to change reality – to create _him_ – I would've woken from the ice still _burning_ for you. I would've raged. I would have burned through all Hydra’s resources until I found you in your cryotube – I would've fought for you. _Freed_ you. And we would've been together all along. _All along._ ”

Bucky reaches out, dumb with shock. He can't. He _can't._

Can't think. 

Can't breathe.

Can't see, through the blurriness in his eyes. He thinks he might've nodded at Steven at one point. Once, if at all. 

Their time together is up.

Guards force their way into the cell, swarm around the prisoner, like locusts, hiding him, swallowing the sight of him whole, screaming at the top of their lungs, pushing him this way and that, using their shields and batons on his prone, unresisting figure.

Bucky turns towards the door – doesn't run, doesn't stumble, he simply walks against the tide of rushing guards, chin high and eyes burning, he walks, one step after the other, he walks; keeps his dignity until he reaches the other side of the threshold – and then he buries his face in his hands, there, in the sterile metal corridor

and

silently

_weeps._

  
  
  
  


**2 - Steve**

**S** teve doesn't know what he's doing here, at the Shadow Pillar prison.

He thinks - he _thought_ it was to meet his Nazi double. To gain closure, maybe. An explanation. Something to stitch him where he's oozing out of his seams. 

But _Bucky_ is here. And there was never a time when Bucky was not his priority.

He slips uninvited into the building, navigates through each security barrier with an ease that comes from weariness more than practice. He’s just too tired to care about the details of what he’s doing. He goes through each motion mechanically - disabling, opening, hacking, flashing cards, codes, digits, producing synthetic eyes from his pocket for the reading - until he’s inside at last.

Inside, and _lost_.

He knows that they’re here somewhere, his double and his… _Bucky_. But he’s given little to no thought on what he’d do once he finds them.

He’s not hitching for a fight. He doesn’t feel particularly talkative, either. He just.

 _Wants_.

In some strange, abstract capacity. He wants. 

He feels hollow, deep into his bones, and the void in him demands to be filled. But what could restore his wholeness, he has no idea.

Steve has just gone past the last security check, when a loud siren starts its plaintive blaring. It’s not the signal of an escape, but the Guards all rally together nonetheless, cascading like fire ants down the stairs and into a long corridor. It means, Steve guess, that whoever runs the place has grown tired of indulging Captain Hydra, and is cutting Bucky’s visit short with any means necessary.

Steve can’t say he minds.

He idles a moment more in the shadows, and then, when even the last straggler has left the hall, he tucks his head low and moves to follow the Guards at a distance.

He doesn’t expect to find Bucky just outside Captain Hydra’s Cell. He doesn’t expect to see him with his face buried in his hands, either; broad shoulders heaving soundlessly.

Steve falters in his steps, and:

“Buck…?” he calls.

Bucky’s head snaps up towards him like a deer’s. His eyes go wide, and Steve feels a moment of vertigo. Bucky’s cheeks are flushed and dry, but there are tears - _tears_ \- brimming inside those wide eyes, clumping into Bucky’s long lashes like alien pearls.

Vertigo quickly turns into ice turns into hot

encompassing

 _rage_.

A wet roar fills Steve’s head with noise, and he’s in Bucky’s space in the matter of a heartbeat. He flexes his hands, unsure for a moment which instinct is the most powerful - to find and break apart whoever hurt Bucky, or to draw Bucky to his own chest and never let him go.

“What happened?” Steve asks, in a voice as removed from him as his rage feels. It's a terrible, otherworldly voice, for a terrible, otherworldly feeling. His eyes narrow into slits. “ _What did he do to you?_ ”

There’s a long silence. It’s all Steve can do not to reach out and brush aside the hair clinging to Bucky’s temples. Then, slowly, a corner of Bucky’s lips quirk up in the diluted mockery of a smile.

“Nothing, Steve.”

The words penetrate the fog in Steve’s mind, but they make no sense.

_“What did he do to you, Bucky?”_

And Steve would reach out, if he could, but he cannot trust his own instincts. Whatever has happened to Bucky, his tormentor wore Steve’s face. Steve’s touch could be anything but welcome, and so Steve clenches his fingers against the need to fold Bucky into a hug.

But Bucky was always the braver of the two. He reaches out, telegraphing his moments as if Steve were a skittish colt. Gentle fingers circle around Steve’s wrist, the ring of coldness doing wonders to calm his thrumming pulse.

“It’s fine, Steve,” Bucky smiles, rueful and bitter. “He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. I have no idea why it’s affecting me like this.”

 _It’s because it was my voice that said it,_ Steve wants to scream. _It was my face. It was me who hurt you. And we never had any defence against one another._

Deftly, Steve turns his hand, interlocking one of his fingers with one of Bucky’s. It’s the only point of contact between them, but it feels as sturdy as an iron chain. It feels as if Steve would come unmoored, if he let go.

“You sure you’re all right?” he asks.

He sees Bucky swallow hard. Eyes glancing down and back to Steve, long lashes fluttering against his cheekbones. His bottom lip rolls into his mouth, whitening under the pressure of his teeth and then blooming into a deep rose’s red. 

“It’s just…”

“What?”

“Back… back in the war,” Bucky says. And his voice sounds like he’s been gargling glass. “And later, when. After the cube gave me back my memories. Did you. Or. Was I. Was I ever… _important..._ to you?”

Steve feels a rush of coldness down his spine.

“Is that what he told you?” He growls. “That I never cared for you?” He tugs gently on their interlocked fingers. “Bucky, you are my partner. My best friend. How could I not care about you? The one guy gutsy enough to follow me anywhere? To have my six even when I was a reckless fool? From the moment we met, we’ve been more attuned that actual _twins_. Brothers do not care as deeply as we care for each other! How could you ever doubt how much you mean to me?”

The smile on Steve’s face blossoms and dies a swift, painful death. Something dark and heavy is shuttering with cold finality behind Bucky’s shivering eyes. It feels like a precious gift has been cut away from Steve forever. He has no idea what it was, but he aches for its return, nonetheless.

“Bucky?” he pleads, scared, confused, but Bucky just shakes his head, a wet shine in his eyes, a knife-wound of a grin on his trembling mouth, and answers:

“Don’t worry, Steve. Brothers. I knew that. Whatever _he_ said to me… _I never doubted that._ ”

  
  
  


**\- TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven Grant Rogers is a madman in love.  
> Steve is a good man, whose world is shaken as he witnesses something he never thought he’d see. 
> 
> Bucky’s the one caught in the crossfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shout-out to my beta Shirokou! Who has resisted temptation to grab and shake either me or the boys so far. ;DD  
> Much love to you, dear. <3

**Title:** Everything I (N)ever Wanted.

 **Author:** Nemesi.

 **Beta:** [Shirokou](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shirokou/profile)

 **Fandom:**  Captain America.

 **Continuity:** Comics verse. Post/Alternate Secret Empire Omega.

 **Genre:** Angst. Romance.

 **Word Count:** 4000 circa.

 **Characters:** Steve Rogers, Hydra Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes.

 **Pairings:** Steve/Bucky and also Hydra Steve/Bucky.

 **Rating:** PG-13/soft R.

 **Disclaimer:** Marvel owns my soul, and also all the characters and themes herein portrayed. I'm putting everything back inside Marvel's sandbox as soon as I'm done playing with their toys.

 **Warnings:** Hydra Steve is his own warning, tbh. So. Some looming and touching, but nothing sexual. Some lines lifted from, or inspired by Secret Empire Omega.

 **Notes:** I HAVE NO SYMPATHY FOR HYDRA STEVE. There's no love lost between us. I simply refuse to believe there’s a Steve - ANY Steve - out there, whose soulmate is not Bucky Barnes.

 **Summary:** Steven Grant Rogers is a madman in love. _Steve_ is a good man, whose world is shaken as he witnesses something he never thought he’d see. Bucky’s the one caught in the crossfire.

  
  


* * * * *

  
  


**3 - The Hydra**

**T** here’s a loud clank and an even louder bang as the door of the cell swings open, vomiting out a long line of green-clad Guards. They’re herding Steven Grant Rogers between their midst, head bent low and hands bound behind his back with crude, heavy metal manacles.

He goes with the Guards willingly enough, but stops for a moment on the threshold of his cell, squinting into the red-swathed shadows of the corridor.

Bucky stands a little away from the door, head tilted much-too-close to someone bulky and tall who’s doing a poor job of disappearing inside a ratty old sweatshirt. They move a step apart as soon as they hear the Guards coming towards them. But their fingers are hooked together, little anchors that cling like magnets for one long moment before they unfurl apart, allowing the man to reach up and pull his hood over his head.

The disguise is poor, disingenuous; and Steven has no doubt about the man’s identity. He can feel his presence all down through his bones, like the echo of a giant’s scream. The fake, that cube-made, cheap copy of him, is _here_.

Steven has no time for him, though.

Bucky is looking at him. Bucky is looking at _him_ , and Steven stares back in reverence. Bucky looks incandescent, under the red lights. His hair aureoled in fire, his eyes twin gleams of ice, wide chest heaving. He looks powerful. Holy.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his voice a low, undulating growl. Is it Steven’s imagination, or is Bucky narrowing his eyes at the bruises already purpling the side of Steven’s face, his jaw and neck? The Guards haven’t treated him kindly, and it shows clearly all over his body. _“Where are you taking him?”_

None of the Guards even look at Bucky, marching past him as though deaf; so it’s Steven himself who answers:

“Security protocols. The location of my cell must remain secret, so I’m being moved to--”

The blow comes swift, soundless. Steven doubles over, falls to his knees at the second hit, gasping for breath. The Guard who’s hit him rears back his baton for a third blow, a fourth. Bucky catches the weapon before the fifth can fall. Steven is entirely too conscious of his double standing beside Bucky, eyes narrowed dangerously under the shadows of that hood of his.

“I’m not done talking to him,” Bucky says, voice gravelly. The line of his back and thighs are beautifully tense, coiled to spring, ready for violence. He’s so _close_. Steven is already down like the worshipper he is. He wants nothing more that to move on his knees until he can push his face to that glorious body, mouthing at the planes of it, soaking up his heat of him. He hopes that Bucky knows how much Steven wants him. How much he’s _always wanted him_. “I need more time.”

The Guard doesn’t even look at Bucky when he answers.

“No.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not asking.”

The Guard opens his mouth, then freezes. To Bucky, it might look like the Guard is looking somewhere beyond his shoulder, ignoring him, deep in thought. But the tentacles of Hydra stretch long and deep, and Steven is aware he has followers everywhere. It’s Steven’s face what the Guard is peering at out of the corner of his eye, and when Steven gives the nod, it’s like a switch has been flipped.

“Five minutes,” the Guard grants.

The corridor empties surprisingly fast after that. The fake orbits in Bucky’s shadow, fists clenching and unclenching as he thinks of something to say, but he too leaves in the end, disappearing behind a corner.

It feels like profound victory to Steven, to be left alone together with Bucky, where they belong. He raises back to his full height, smiling beatifically down at his Bucky.

“You always have my back, don’t you partner?”

Bucky looks back at him with a sort of quiet agony in his eyes. He’s such a _beauty_ , especially when in pain. Steven’s hungry eyes cannot take their fill.

“You truly have all his memories, don’t you?” Bucky asks, a crack in his voice.

Steven clucks his tongue in reproach.

“ _My_ memories, Buck. _He_ is the one who has copies of them, I guess.”

“You’re _not_ him.”

“I’m above him.”

“You’ll _never_ be him.”

“I don’t _need_ to be him.”

“You’re not _my_ Steve.”

“I’m the best version of him, Buck.”

“You’re _Hydra_.”

Steven shrugs as much as his bound arms allow.

“And you can’t condone that. I know it.”

“You are--”

“-- _your first love_. I always will be that, for you.”

“To me, you’ll always be _this_ ,” Bucky continues, spreading his hands. “The one who took everything good me and Steve have ever done and tainted it. You’ll always be the one who thought I was _expendable_ and had me killed, hoping to bring me back as a puppet. Do you _understand_ that?”

“Do _you_ understand what it feels like to be apart from you? Do you understand the sacrifice I’ve made, letting you go? Letting Helmut have his revenge? I’ve always thought your death was on me. Ever since I woke up from the ice. So I knew. _I knew_ that if I had to, I could live with your absence until it was time to bring you back,” he pauses, frowns into the distance, then looks back at Bucky. “Bringing you back… _that’s_ what they shouldn’t have taken from me. Heads will fall for that. They had no right, _no right_ to hide you from me. I’ve waited for seventy five years, Bucky. There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought of you. Of bringing you back _where you belonged_. With _me_.” Steven pushes close, looms over Bucky, eyes roaming feverishly across his face. “You’re mine, Bucky. _And you know it._ ”

“I am not a thing to be owned,” Bucky whispers back, and he sounds scraped raw. “But you…” he trails off. A slow, strange sort of horror daws onto his face. His fingers, just the gentle tips of them, shakily cup Steven’s cheeks. He looks deeply into Steven’s eyes, and whatever he sees makes him blanch even further. “Somehow, _I_ own _you_.”

Steven exhales a long, blissful sigh at the contact. Bucky’s skin on his own. The vibranium of his mechanical fingers on the opposite cheek. It burns so _sweetly_.

“You always did, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes flit between Steven’s own, and Steven would question the horror still lurking in his face, the strange itch in his breath, but the touch on his cheeks, soft as it is, is pulling him in, like a magnet would pull metal, and he’s unable to resist. Down and down Bucky draws him, closer and closer still, until Bucky’s lips touch his own, red and hot and alive like a beating heart.

Steven tenses his arms, and the manacles snap like ropes of silk behind him. His hands drift up and encircle Bucky by the waist, cradling him close like the jewel he is, bracketed in the valley of Steven’s hips.

They stay like that for a long moment, not deepening the kiss, not moving, not thinking, just exchanging breath. When Bucky steps away, Steven allows him go.

“You’ll die,” Bucky says. He looks thoughtful, and not a little lost. “If not here, then after the trial.”

Steven feels like he’ll never stop smiling at this amazing creature. Does he finally _get it?_

“But I’ll come back for you, anyway,” he vows, rejoicing silently when he feels Bucky tremble under his hands. “ _Nothing can keep us apart._ ”

  
  


**4 - Steve**

**A** ll air in the world is gone.

All of it.

It’s been sucked away and left a vacuum in its wake and Steve is choking on the icy emptiness, unable to draw breath. His ears are ringing. His chest burns.

Bucky is kissing _him_.

The double, that Hydra reflection of Steve.

Bucky is _kissing_ him.

They stand there, leaning against one another, lips pressed softly together, making no sound, no sound whatsoever, just breathing, just existing, together, as lovely and heartbreaking as a painting.

_Bucky is kissing him._

Steve feels like he’s underwater. There’s no air, no sound. Time moves strangely. Nothing means anything. He’s too heavy, he’s floating. He’s burning. He’s made of ice. He can’t comprehend what he is seeing.

He blinks, and Bucky is moving away from the blonde monster. Blink, darkness overcomes him. Blink, Bucky is moving backwards, stepping out of those familiar-alien arms that reach for him still, open and imploring. Blink. Darkness. Blink. Bucky’s lips are moving. Moving. Moving. Blink. Darkness. Blink. Bucky is turning. Blink. Is in front of Steve. Darkness. Beside Steve. Blink. Guards moving opposite them; a long twisting corridor. Darkness. Step step step. Blink. Stairs and doors. Blink. Darkness. Step step step some more. Blink. Darkness. Blink.

_Blink._

They’re out of the prison, somehow. Suddenly, like shaking himself awake from a nightmare, light and sound creep back into Steve’s awareness, and strangely enough it’s now that he stops, blinking fast to focus on the man walking a few feet in front of him.

“What was _that_?”

Bucky tenses, but he doesn’t stop moving. For all that it’s a super secret prison, the Shadow Pillar is a massive building, sprawling in the desert like an immense cryptid. There’s movement all around it - helicopters circling overhead, guards making rounds, towers crawling with drones, big pillars of light sweeping across the terrain to vanquish any shadow.

Bucky hurries away from it, up across a bushes-dotted hill, pushing against a hot gust of wind.

Steve stops at the bottom of the incline, looking up at Bucky maneuvering his way between brittle shrubs and needle-armed cacti. Every step he takes kicks up a cloud of dust. It looks like a storm brewing between the two of them.

“What was that?” Steve asks again.

There must have been something in his voice, because Bucky stops for a moment. To his credit, he doesn’t pretend not to understand what Steve is asking about.

“You weren’t supposed to see.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

Bucky looks down at his feet, then over his shoulder at where Steve is standing, a pillar of fury in the dust, jaw clenched tight against the silence stretching between them.

“I’m sorry.”

“What was that?”

“I truly am.”

“What was that?”

“Not now.”

“What _the hell was that, Bucky_?!”

Bucky flinches. His eyes are dulled with something like defeat. Steve feels a spike of emotion go through his heart. It feels like regret. He never wants to hurt Bucky. _Ever_. But the regret is not enough to clear away the anger. The betrayal. The--

“What. Was. _That._ ” There’s no inflection in Steve’s voice.

Bucky draws another long breath. He’s pale, left arm whirring lowly as his fists clench and unclench. He’s almost shimmering in the heat. A mirage in the sweeping emptiness.

“Not here, Steve. I’ll tell you. Just. _Not here_.” Steve sees him swallow hard. Something vulnerable flits into Bucky’s voice, turns the proud line of his shoulders into a heavy, defeated slope. “If. If you can trust me enough to follow me, that is.”

Steve sucks a shocked breath between his teeth, rubs his face harshly, feeling the grains of sand scrape across his skin.

“I know you’re not Hydra, Buck.”

They study each other for a long moment. Whatever Bucky was hoping to find in Steve’s face is… it’s not there. At least not completely. The shape of his mouth turns rueful and bitter, but he stands a little straighter, nonetheless.

“I have - _the Thunderbolts_ had a plane. It still responds to my fingerprint and voice signature. It’s just beyond the slope. We can talk once we’re inside it.” There’s a hint of question in his voice, so Steve makes himself nod and starts climbing up after him.

It’s all the dust in the air, surely. But his eyes sting.

So does his chest.

**5 - Bucky**

**T** here’s only one thing that’s ever terrified James Buchanan Barnes, and it’s not war. It’s not the Russians. Not Hydra. Not the Red Skull. Not Hitler. Karpov. Loki. The Skrull. Or any other alien or monster he’s ever encountered.

 _It’s Steven Grant Rogers._ (And perhaps Natasha Romanoff, in a certain capacity).

Not even the evil doppelgänger that Kobik created has come close to scare him this much. He’s made Bucky tense, made him feel sick and hurt and horrified and despairingly sad, in turns. But never _afraid_. Because he might wear Steve’s appearance like a shroud, but he’s never hold power over Bucky’s soul, not the way Steve has done since they met so long ago.

It’s not even that Steve is the only person who can truly _hurt_ him - destroy him beyond recovery with something as simple as _dismissal_. It’s that Steve is so important, and so stupidly, bravely selfless, that _anything_ \- anything at all - done to hurt him would turn Bucky into something not quite himself - a despairing husk, a monster of rage.

Steve is _part of him_. Steve can make and unmake Bucky with a breath.

So, he’ll admit: he’s scared now.

Because they’re both hurting, confused and _angry_ and nothing good can come if they talk now.

But talk they must.

The inside of the ship is cool, a nice reprieve from the dry heat of the outside. There is no light inside, and its bowels smell faintly of something chemical, almost metallic; but it all somehow feels pleasant. The spaceship’s ramp thuds loudly under their feet as they climb inside, sending echoes bouncing around their heads, adding to the illusion that they are ducking into a damp, dark grotto.

As soon as Bucky reaches the middle of the cargo bay, the ramp recedes, the hatch closing behind their backs with a hum and a whirr. For a long, strange moment, they’re locked in darkness, invisible. Like ghosts.

Then Bucky asks softly:

“ _Lights,_ ” and a low buzzing like bees’ starts at their feet, just a moment before a soft blue glow slowly spills over the two of them. Steve’s face looks like hardened moonlight, harsh shadows painted deep under his cheekbones and eyebrows. His hair is pale enough to glow. He looks tired, more than angry, but there’s a tell-tale tension in his jaw that feels like a prelude to violence.

“What was _that_?” he asks once more, implacable like the tide.

Bucky can’t look at him. There’s a panel in the wall beside him. He trails his metal fingers over the edge of it, back and forth, in thoughtful silence. He takes a deep breath in. Swallows hard. Flits his eyes to Steve and away. Keeps rubbing the indentation in the wall. But still, he doesn’t answer.

Steve pushes his face in his palms. They smell of dirt, of sweat. He sucks in a harsh breath through his mouth. It tastes salty. He sucks another. Another still. If it’s calm he was seeking, it doesn’t come to him.

“Bucky, that… that _man_. That. That _copy_ of me. He replaced me. He terrorized the country I’ve sworn to protect, betrayed every last one of my friends. He’s done unspeakable things. All in _my_ name. Wearing _my_ face. Even just looking at him makes me so sick to my stomach I can barely breathe, so why, _why_ , in the name of all that is holy, did I. Just. Watch. My. Oldest. Friend. Kiss. That. THING! _WEARING! MY! FACE!_ ”

His voice is a lion’s roar. It cracks right there, on the tail end of his cry. Not in weakness. No. It’s the _rage_. It’s too much rage for a man’s voice to contain.

Bucky flinches back, hunches into himself, looking smaller than ever, small like he’s never been, not even when he used to be compact and lithe and utterly foolish with youth.

“I’m sorry that it disgusts you so much.” His voice, in comparison, is a spider’s thread. So thin. So likely to snap and let him fall. “That’s why you were never meant to know.”

There is defeat in Bucky’s tone, something wry and resigned. And a vulnerability in his posture the likes of which Steve has never seen. His contemptuous anger clears like smoke. He wants to move closer, suddenly. Touch Bucky, hold him close. But again, he doesn’t dare.

“Bucky,” he says, something tired in his voice. “I just want to _understand_.”

Brown eyes peer up at him from under long lashes.

“It’s not gonna be pretty,” he warns.

“I’m ready.”

“ _He’s in love with me,_ ” Bucky blurts in a single breath, like ripping a bandaid.

And Steve…

Steve wasn’t ready. He wasn’t. His brain glitches, sticking to the word “love” like a broken record. The stunned look on his face makes Bucky smile briefly - if smile is the proper world for the terrible twist of his lips.

“Total disclosure? It’s-- _Kobik. Kobik made him love me._ ” Even just saying it out loud breaks his heart.

“Made him… _love you_?” Steve croaks, feeling like he’s had the wind knocked out of him.

Bucky nods, looking uncomfortable.

“She created him and just… decided he was in love with me. To me, it feels like he’s been… _coerced_ into feeling like that, given no choice. No choice whatsoever, and… and it’s sick, and it feels likes it’s _all on me._ ”

“Did he tell you?”

“That he loves me? Yeah,” Bucky admits. “That it’s all an invention of Kobik? It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. He has your memories, and he wasn’t lying about his feelings, but it’s not like you ever--” He forces down a wave of emotion. “It must have been _her_. There’s no other explanation.”

Steve looks thoughtful for a moment.

“So, the kiss…” he licks his lips. Strangely, they tingle. _Ache_. Pins and needles like when a part of your body that has long fallen asleep wakes up with a rush of blood. “It was some sort of ploy? Were you trying to _exploit_ his feelings?”

For the first time, an emotion different that guilt or pain or sadness takes hold of Bucky. He jerks his head up, fire in his gaze. His metal arm whirrs at his side, fists clenching hard enough to creak. He looks more cornered animal than man. The Winter Soldier, in all his glory.

“I’m not _Fury_ ,” he growls, voice as sharp as ice. “I’d never use somebody like that, _destroy_ someone like that. Using them as pawns, in the name of a feeling that’s not even _returned_. Unrequited love is the worse torture. I _know_ it. It eats at you. It flails you open. You don’t play with something like that. You just _don’t_. That man may deserve every form of torture under the sun, but I’m not the kind of person who’d use _love_ to turn someone into a _puppet_.”

It feels like a chasm is opening inside Steve’s stomach. Bucky is not talking about the doppelgänger anymore. This pain is a pain he knows intimately - and Steve can’t help but wonder - who is it, that Bucky has loved to the point of aching? Who has broken his heart so completely? And Fury-- why would Fury exploit that feeling to _use_ Bucky, to control him?

If anger is what he was feeling before, there’s no word for the storm burning at his insides right now. No one is allowed to hurt Bucky. _No one_.

For all the turmoil inside of him, there’s a surprising touch of gentleness in his voice when he speaks.

“So explain to me what you were doing, Buck. I only want to understand.”

It’s like water has been poured over Bucky’s fury. He seems to shrink, to _diminish_ , emotion gone from his face, retreating behind an invisible wall to better protect himself.

“He’s not you,” he begins hoarsely. “He’s _not_. Now that the farce is over, I wonder how he managed to fool anyone. But--he has your face,” he holds his chin up like a dare, but his voice mellows with kindness. “And he was hurt. And my brain damn well _stops working,_ when I see you’ve been put in danger, or hurt. It always has.”

Steve can relate to that. Helping Bucky when he’s in need - it’s an instinct that’s deeper than anything else inside him, an imperative as strong as whatever power keeps his heart pumping.

“You always have my back,” Steve breathes, and he doesn’t understand why it looks like his words have knifed Bucky, until he admits:

“He said the same thing.”

“Well, it’s _true,”_ Steve scoff, disproportionately resentful that that Hydra monster can lay claim on any part of Bucky, of his memories, on any single second of their precious, shared past. “You’ve always come through when I needed you.”

Bucky looks at him dubiously, but doesn’t comment.

“Is that why you… _did that_?” Steve asks. And it should be ridiculous how he can’t even say the word “kiss”, but every time he just _thinks_ about it, it’s like another log gets thrown in the fires of his anger. “To help him?”

Bucky rubs his face.

“I wish I could tell you I was simply doing him a kindness,” he begins. “I know he’s never going to have me the way he wants. He makes my skin crawl, and I hate all that he stands for. I’d _never_ go with him. But.

“But I’ve been in his shoes, too. Loving someone I can’t have. And I know how much time I’ve spent stupidly wishing for a touch. A _taste_. For… for anything, really. Pity, or just _closure_. Letting go is important, when you love someone you can’t have. I- I never got the hang of letting go, though. I don’t think _he_ has any idea what that means, either.

“I wish I could say it was just revenge. Which would be cruel, and not something to be proud of, but at least it would be easy - he had hit me where it hurt, in his cell before you arrived. Wanting to hurt him back in the same way makes sense, at least.

“Maybe it was pity - he has this _face_ , it had my goddam instinct tricked into wanting to reach out and help him. Or maybe it was because I feel so guilty, you know? That Kobik forced him into this same fresh hell I’ve been in for so long, and that I am what he wants and the source of his pain, but--

“But the truth is - _I wasn’t thinking much of anything at all._ Maybe it was all of that at once. I can’t say for sure. But it doesn’t much matter in the end, does it? Considering I might have ended up pulling a damn _Fury_ , and dangling in front of him the one thing that could spark the fight in him all over again,” he says, and has to suppress a shudder as he remembers that last promise Steven made him, the horror of it.

“So, it was a damn mess, wasn’t it?”

“Pretty much.”

“But that’s not all,” Steve says, even though he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

“It’s not all,” Bucky confirms.

“Then tell me, Bucky,” he asks, once more, over the pounding of his own heart. “What was _that_?”

Bucky closes his eyes. Takes a deep, steadying breath. His eyes flit up and find Steve's own, taking his breath away.

“That was me saying _goodbye_.”

  
  
  


**\- TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people think that Captain America, the symbol of honesty that he is, always wears his heart on his sleeve.  
> It isn’t so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say a loud thank you to everyone who commented, dropped me asks and supported me through this little adventure! (’∀’●)♡
> 
> I’m so happy this is out of my system. It’s been a short but wild ride, and I loved every second… Even if writing Hydra Steve was much harder on me than I thought… And even if Steve went all Cap® on me and wrote his own script, refusing to listen to me at all. Thank heavens for Bucky. He’s my baby. Even if I torture him.  
> I specially want to thank my beta Shirokou, who caught all the silly things I wrote. xD
> 
> THE AFTER CREDIT SCENE (Yup, I wrote it in the end). Will be updated tomorrow, and will be just that - an after credit scene in pure Marvel style, hinting to what might lurk on the horizon for the boys, but I haven’t planned a sequel (feel free to add one, ladies and gentlemen).

 

 **Title:** Everything I (N)ever Wanted.

 **Author:** Nemesi.

 **Beta:** [Shirokou](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shirokou/profile)

 **Fandom:**  Captain America.

 **Continuity:** Comics verse. Post/Alternate Secret Empire Omega.

 **Genre:** Angst. Romance.

 **Word Count:** 4500 circa.

 **Characters:** Steve Rogers, Hydra Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes.

 **Pairings:** Steve/Bucky and also Hydra Steve/Bucky.

 **Rating:** PG-13/soft R.

 **Disclaimer:** Marvel owns my soul, and also all the characters and themes herein portrayed. I'm putting everything back inside Marvel's sandbox as soon as I'm done playing with their toys.

 **Warnings:** NO MORE HYDRA STEVE!!! Wait, that’s not a warning. It’s celebration!

 **Notes:** I HAVE NO SYMPATHY FOR HYDRA STEVE. There's no love lost between us. I simply refuse to believe there’s a Steve - ANY Steve - out there, whose soulmate is not Bucky Barnes.

 **Summary:** Some people think that Captain America, the symbol of honesty that he is, always wears his heart on his sleeve.  
It isn’t so.  


  


* * * * *

  


**6 - Bucky and Steve**

 

 ** S **ome people think that Captain America, the symbol of honesty that he is, always wears his heart on his sleeve.

It isn’t so.

Steve is all attitude - he _always_ had to be. His deepest, darkest emotions show up only in the wells of his eyes, and those eyes are guarded, always, with the prudence of someone who’s accustomed to fake his own well being. You can never tell when he’s sad, or lost, or despairing. Especially in battle. Captain America always stands tall, a pillar of light in even the darkest nights. Always confident. Always ready. He can’t allow himself any room to grieve, to hurt, to doubt, to linger, to fall.

But Bucky knows Steve like no one else, and he can see, clearly, the storm hiding behind his wide blue eyes. He’s not confident. Hell, he’s nowhere damn near _ready_ . Not for _this_.

“Why,” Steve begins, a touch of anger in his tone, “why would you care to say _goodbye_ to such a man, such a--”

It’s his own damn fault, perhaps, for drawing it out so long, but Bucky feels suddenly heavy; tired to his bones of this torture. Tired to the very core of his soul. He tucks himself back against the wall like a pet who knows he’s about to be struck down, finding a strange safety in the constricting coolness pressing all around him.

“It wasn’t _him_ I was saying goodbye to,” he admits, not quite meeting Steve’s incensed eyes.

“Then who--”

Bucky takes a deep, deep breath. Releases it in a slow, slow sigh. Surely, Steve knows? He _must_ know. There’s no chance he’s so willfully blind.

“For all these years, you’ve been a dream, Steve,” Bucky says, hopeless with resignation. He glances back up at the damn love of his life, his heart in his throat when he admits: “ _And it's time for me to wake up._ ”

Steve stills. It’s uncanny, how his whole self just seems to freeze, between a breath and the next, like a frame glitching in a videorecording. Understanding is creeping behind his fixed gaze, but he’s battling it down, visibly. The line of his jaw is hard with tension. He looks both suspended in ice and ready to burst into attack.

“How am I _a dream that you need to wake up from_?” he snaps, the taint of something deeper than anger, deeper than outrage colouring his tone.

“You really don’t _know_?” Bucky says, unsure why Steve is pretending not to know still, but feeling stung nonetheless.

“What I know is that he _says_ that he loves you, and that you _kissed him_.”

“I _told_ you--”

“That you pitied his lack of choice. Wanted to _help_ him. I only ever heard you talk about _him_ this whole time.”

“You asked, and--”

“Yes, I asked. And now I ask again. Why do you feel so strongly for a thing like _him_?”

A kernel of rage sparks through Bucky’s guilty surrender, making him grit his teeth.

“You know it’s not about _him_!”

“Oh, _do I?_ ”

Steve’s eyes are narrowed into slits, his whole frame vibrating with rage, and Bucky despairs a bit, hates that Hydra copy a little more, because never, not once in their lives, not even when Bucky was an empty puppet that Steve was tasked to contain, have they ever fought with actual _rage_ fueling their words, before. Bucky is witnessing a bond of decades shattering, and all in the name of his stupid, unwanted feelings. The thought alone goes like a blade through his heart. It’s killing him inside.

He rakes shaky fingers through his hair, exhaling loudly.

“I didn’t want it to come to this, Steve. I knew you wouldn’t like how I feel for you, but is it really worth _this?_ ” he spreads his hands, imploringly. “Can’t you really bear the disgust long enough for us to salvage our friendship?”

“I don’t like how you feel for me, you say” Steve repeats, low and hissing. “And yet, you’re the one saying goodbye, Bucky.”

“ _Because there’s no future for my feelings!_ ” He shouts. “ _He_ made it clear, you are making it even clearer now! I was ready to _let go_ . I always knew nothing would come of it, but after talking to him I was ready - yes, I was _ready to bury my feelings and stop hoping for anything_ ! I would’ve made myself forego hope. Forget you. Go on living without always thinking about you, always trying to reach out, calling you just to hear your voice when the world is collapsing around me and I need the strength to go on! I’m sorry if this is ruining _us_ , I’m sorry if you can’t ever see me again after this, but I refuse to apologize for my feelings, I _refuse_ , when they might be the best thing in my life, what made me be helpful and proud of myself in the war, pick myself up after what the Russian made of me, and push forward into becoming what I am _now_.”

Steve’s form is immovable. His voice like ice.

“What did he _tell_ you?”

A sharp, bitter laugh like glass bursts out of Bucky’s throat.

“The truth.”

“ _What_ truth.”

“That the monster is in love with me, but the real Steve? He never was. Never will be.” He snorts again, and it sounds painful. “And I have no idea why I needed the reality check, when I damn well knew it all along.” He crosses his arms over his chest, like that might shield himself from hurt. “I was letting you go with that kiss. I _am_ letting you go. Any hope and dream. Allow me the dignity of walking away from the best thing in my life on my own terms. You won’t hear from me again, if you don’t want to. We can be adults about this.”

Steve heaves a low, loud breath. His gaze is locked on Bucky like prey. The look on his face isn’t stubborn, passionate Steve Rogers. It isn’t righteous, superior Captain America either. It’s need. Primeval in his intensity.

“He made you give up on me. And you’re just letting him?”

“I’m not letting him do anything. I’m growing out of these fee--”

“You never once said it.”

Bucky rears back, stunned.

“What?”

“Your feelings for me. You’ve been talking about them. But you haven’t once given them a name.”

“I don’t--”

“Say it.”

“Don’t-”

“Say it.”

“Don’t make _me_.”

“ _Say it._ ”

“Steve…”

“Say it.”

“Why? You must know what I feel.”

“Tell me, then.”

“ _Ste_ \--”

In the blink of an eye, Steve goes from one side of the cargo bay to the other, pushing against Bucky, both fists on the wall by the sides of his head, but somehow not touching him anywhere. Heat crackles between them, stifling. A sense like a gravitational pull, heavy, breathless in its intensity.

“Just _TELL ME._ ”

Pressure builds behind Bucky’s eyes. It’s not just anger, that makes Steve’s voice shake. It’s desperation. He’s crumbling. In pain. Bucky could never, ever resist the siren’s call of that pain, he’s always had to come to the rescue, no matter the cost. So,

“...I love you,” Bucky whispers after an eternity of silence, breath fanning hotly against Steve’s mouth. He watches Steve’s chest expand, his pupils tremble with undefinable emotion, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

“Again, Bucky.”

“I love you.”

“ _Again._ ”

“I love you,” he says like he’s in pain. “I love you so much. Like you’re a part of me. Like I was shaped from your rib, and my own beating heart somehow remained behind, tucked safely inside your chest, calling me in. That’s how much I love you.”

A desperate sound scrapes out of Steve’s throat. His muscles are locked; shaking. His fingers claw for purchase against the wall as he fights a battle not to reach out, to touch Bucky. There are bloody crescents in his palms, where he’d been clenching his fist tight enough to pierce the skin. The cuts are small, but they sting, smearing blood on the mirror-like surface of the metal wall. Steve can smell it. Can see the red streaks run across his distorted reflection.

“And this - is this for _me_ ? You haven’t told _him_ that you love him, too?”

“I didn’t. Because I _don’t._ He’s not you. He’ll never be you. He isn’t _my_ Steve. It’s _you,_ I love.”

A shiver ripples through Steve’s body like an electrical current.

“I’m so angry right now, Buck. Angry like you wouldn’t believe.”

Bucky’s heart shrivels and dies inside his chest. His voice sounds wet, suddenly.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I’m _sorry_ . I’m--I _know_ you hate that I feel like this about you, I _don’t--_ ”

Steve shakes his head violently, head titled low, eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritted.

“No. No. You don’t _get it_ . You _don’t_ . That man, that farce of myself - he took all the trust and respect I built over the years, and burned it to the ground in a matter of moments. He left a scar in the world as I know it. And maybe I ought to be more upset about that, but I spent years telling people not to put too much trust in a single individual. Not to trust blindly, but to question authority. Now they understand _why_.

“He leveled a city. Tortured and imprisoned thousands. He hurt my friends. My family. People I care about very much. And still, I was glad to hand him over to the justice system. To know he’d be in his cell until it was time for him to stand trial for his crimes. Because I believe in justice over vengeance. I always have.

“But he touched you. He _touched you_ . And suddenly, that’s the sin I can’t condone. I watched you kiss him, and now I am angry enough I want to see him _burned at a stake_ . Even now, even _now_ , here, with you, I want to reach out, to feel his neck squeezed under my hands, squeezed until the light goes out of his eyes.

“I can’t think straight. I am so angry. At him. At what he told you. What he almost made you do. Angry at myself, too. For losing myself like this. For feeling so possessive. All animal instinct and nothing more.

“And I am angry at _you_ , Bucky. Because you went and gave him something that was supposed to be _mine_.”

“Ste--”

“Our first kiss. And he has it. _He_ has it. _And I can’t stand it._ ”

Bucky sucks in a harsh breath, reeling at the fierceness of Steve’s tone. Their foreheads are almost touching, their chests are heaving, mouths pushing wet puffs of breath like hot steam between them.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m in his head, Buck. I think like him. I know what he told you. That you’re his. But it’s _not_ \- you’re _mine_ . And I shouldn’t - you belong to no one but yourself, I know it, but. You’re _mine_. Like my heart is mine. My lungs. My blood. My soul. Anything that keeps me alive.”

“You. You aren’t in love with me, Steve,” Bucky reminds him gently.

“In love with you? In _love_ with you _?_ That’s so reductive. You’re my _everything_ . You’ve been in my every thought since the day they picked me from the ice. You’ve been _in my heart_ since that day at Camp Leigh when we first saw each other. You’ve been-- you’ve been my constant. My companion. My guilt. My hope. All this time. You think I have your heart? _You_ have mine. You _are_ mine. There’s no one else I hold more dear.”

“I know you care--”

“You _don’t_ . You don’t _know_ . I care for you. I adore you. I want to hold you; I want you to touch me all the time. I want your voice in my ears, want your skin under my mouth. It’s not even just desire. I’d touch you, if you let me. Touch you everywhere. But already you make me complete without it. You make me happy by just _breathing_. Being alive and well. You give me hope. You give me strength. I want to tuck you under my chin and whisper you to sleep, but that fantasy isn’t any stronger than the desire to put my tongue on your skin. I want to hold your hand and lay my head on your lap as you read to me, just as much as I want to see you come apart under me. I want to fight by your side and then reel you in and tuck the hair away from your face afterwards, just as much as I want to feel all of your body move against mine, skin to skin.

“I want you. Whatever you want to give me will always be good with me - adoration, friendship, love, _lust_ . I just need you close, in any capacity allowed, otherwise I won’t even be able to function. Being friends? I’m content with that. But that’s not _all_ that I can want.”

“Why? Why so _suddenly_ , why so--”

“It’s not sudden. It’s been a long way coming, and with what’s happened, what I saw, what you were prepared to do… I just couldn't go another moment without telling you.”

“If it’s true, then,” Bucky swallows, touching gentle fingers to Steve’s cheek, watching in in amazement as Steve leans into the touch, craving the closeness, “why aren’t you _taking_ what you want?” His words are a dare, his voice a whisper. He does not believe. He _can’t_.

“You don't get it, do you,” Steve breaths out a laugh; a short and bitter sound. “It’s because I don’t want to _take it._ This isn’t something I can just _take_ . _You_ kissed _him_ . And I want - I _need_ \- Bucky, _please_ \--”

Bucky surges up, pressing his lips to Steve’s. He expects nothing. And nothing is what happens for a long moment - just a soft pressing of lips, sweet and languid. Then Steve’s lips part under his own, slowly, and Bucky isn’t aware of anything but their tongues sliding together. His heart is pounding a quick staccato behind his ribcage, but his head feels like it’s emptying out, a weightless and bright space of calm. He’s been feeling vulnerable, all day, but now, oh _now_ , he feels like a ship gaining port after a storm. It feels like slipping under warm blankets, still cold and dripping from the icy rain.

And then Steve _pushes him_.

Pushes him against the wall, surging like a man dying of thirst would surge when offered to drink from a spring. His hands go to the sides of Bucky’s jaw, cradling his skull, fingers digging deep into his hair, and tilting his face into the kiss like one would tilt a cup to better drink the spirits within.

Bucky’s being _devoured_. He whines, digs his fingers into Steve’s waist, skims the line of bare skin he finds there, forcing a needy low sound from Steve’s throat.

They explore each other with tongue and fingers, getting greedier as the seconds pass. Soon, they are reduced to nothing but their _want_. It’s famished. Breathless.

“I’m not going to lose you,” Steve says, ducking his head to mouth at the long line of Bucky’s neck. “I’m not, I’m _not_ ,” he chants between kisses.

The handrail that runs all across the wall is digging into Bucky’s back. He arches against it, pushing into Steve, and groaning at the feel of him, hot and hard between Bucky’s legs.

“Ste--”

Growling, Steve drags his hands down Bucky’s neck, his shoulders, his sides, a long, hot slide of his palms down to the crest of Bucky’s hips. He hooks his hands under Bucky’s thighs and hefts him onto the metal bar, slipping between his spread legs and locking there like two pieces of a puzzle.

Bucky _growls_ , a rich, beautiful sound, rocking back against him. He tugs at Steve’s hoodie up until he finds bare skin, until he can slide his finger along the sweaty smoothness of it, can sink his nails in and drag, panting against Steve’s mouth, kissing him wherever he can reach.

“Bucky,” Steve is saying, over and over again, pressing his groans into Bucky’s skin, sinking his teeth into it, tasting its salt on the tip of his tongue. “Bucky, _Bucky._ ”

And Bucky tries to answer, tries to turn the hot bursts of noise, the shattered cadence of his breathing, the breathless groans bursting from his mouth into actual words, but then Steve is changing his hold again, growling low and deep like a wolf with prey and hoists him higher, taking all of Bucky’s weight in his arms.

He guides Bucky’s legs to clamp around his own waist, and Bucky complies, canting his hips like a wild thing, making Steve break into desperate moans. Bucky clings to the wide bulk of Steve’s shoulders, swallowing harshly, bowing low until his hair is hanging around their faces like a curtain, and noses at Steve’s nose, kissing him deep and wet and sloppy.

Bracing his legs apart, Steve moves from the wall, whispering still, on every exhale, “Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, _Bucky_ ”. Turning on a stumble, dropping on his knees, he takes a moment to hold Bucky even closer to his chest, almost as if he wanted Bucky to slip under his own skin, become part of his very blood. They’re _touching_ now, touching all over, touching like Steve has wanted for longer than he’s been able to admit even to himself, and Bucky feels vulnerable and sacred in his arms, the tragic perfection of his soul bared and with no more secrets between them, and Steve craves more, more, _more._

He doesn’t quite relent his hold - he can’t give this up, he _won’t_ \- but carefully tilts down until he can lay Bucky on the ground and blankets him with the whole of his body, grinding his hips in tiny circles, unable to help himself, unable to resist the urge to reach down for one dozen more kisses, and then one dozen more, breathless and needy, elated and sort of _drunk_ , because Bucky is with him now, and nobody can come between them, he won’t allow it, he won’t, he _won’t_ . He’d die before he gave this up. He truly would. He _will_.

He leans back to suck in a desperate breath, dizzy with need and lack of air, and the dizziness multiplies tenfold when Bucky looks up at him, pupils blown, mouth red, chest heaving and hair fanning around his head, wrecked, panting, and hot like a dream.

“ _Bucky…_ ” he moans, wretched like he’s in pain, and he feels Bucky’s hand cup gently the back of his head, scritching softly along the sweaty skin.

“Feel satisfied now?”

There’s something strange in his voice, a low tremor, resigned and hurt, and Steve _thinks_ he ought to pay more attention to it, to address and dispel it, but-- _satisfied?_ Is Bucky _kidding him_?

“Never,” Steve blurts. He splays a hand out, lets it hover over Bucky’s face, imploringly. “He _touched_ you,” he says in lieu of an explanation.

Bucky blinks up at him, a lazy, cat-like blink. He looks stunned for a moment, then surprise gives way to a slow, familiar smile. A low contemplative noise rumbles out of his chest, deep as a purr.

“So you must, what, touch me more than he did? To erase any lingering trace?”

“Touch you _always,_ ” Steve insists dazedly. “Must. He _can’t_ have this with you.”

Laughter ripples out of Bucky’s mouth.

“So. Who ever would have thought that Captain America is a _caveman_.”

“Am not,” Steve protests vehemently.

“A two year old then.”

“I’m not--”

“A possessive,” Bucky says, kissing the thumb that Steve wasn’t aware he’s been running across his lips until now. “Jealous.” Kiss. “Two.” Kiss. “Year-old.” Steve’s thumb disappears into the heat of Bucky’s mouth and Steve’s breath hitches.

“There were signs,” he admits grudgingly.

Bucky hums thoughtfully, running his fingers through Steve's hair.

“You _do_ always rant about “your” things.”

“You’re not a _thing_.”

“But I’m yours?” He asks this with apparent guilelessness, but Steve feels stabbed in the chest. He recognizes now, the thing trembling in the shadow of Bucky’s humor.

Carefully, he lowers himself fully onto Bucky’s chest, ducks his head to tuck his face in the slope of Bucky’s shoulder, going boneless in a long exhale.

“I’ll let you go,” he says softly. “If you don’t believe me. If you still want to say goodbye. I will let you go.”

He can feel it when Bucky swallows, fighting back emotion.

“What am I supposed to say to that?”

“Say you’ll _stay_.”

Bucky huffs out a sound that was supposed to be a laugh, but sounds too wet.

“I'm going to ruin this--”

Steve wrenches himself back enough to catch Bucky’s gaze.

“Bucky, _no!_ You could never--” he’s hushed by a gentle finger landing across his mouth.

“ _I'm going to ruin this,”_ he repeats, “and make a mention to You-Know-Who--”

“We’re not in a children’s book,” Steve scoffs, feeling ice drop in his veins at the mere mention of that _thing_ masquerading as a man that they’ve left in the Shadow Pillar.

“Debatable. But thanks for not going back to caveman mode,” his head drops slowly, so his forehead touches Steve’s. “Some of the things he said. The way he moved. Where he touched me, and how. It’s. It’s a lot like what you’ve done. _But!_ But,” he placates gently, reeling Steve close when he wrenches away in a pique of fury. “But - he was like a shadow of you. An empty copy. A puppet mimicking the original, but for all that he got right the façade… it’s the intent behind your actions, that's different. I was a spoil of war to him. Something he was owed. A plaything to use for his pleasure. You - even now, you try to protect me.”

“Bucky,” Steve scolds, wrapping a tentative hand around Bucky’s chin. “I'm not pretending to love you so you won't leave. I watched you leave before, for the dark corners of the universe, and I just swore to be there when you returned. This isn't like that. I know you think that I’m faking it, and it hurts you. But isn’t that answer enough? I’d never hurt you. Not like this. _Ever._ ”

“So it’s real?” Bucky swallows. “You’re not just being overprotective? Or jealous?”

Steve cuddles closer. There’s no other word for it. He pillows his head on Bucky’s shoulder with surprising belligerence, and huffs:

“Oh, I _am_ jealous. And angry, And… you’re such a big part of me, Buck, no matter how well I know you’ll come out on top of anything, I just can’t help it if I want to keep you safe.”

He plays with the edge of Bucky’s collar, chasing the feeling of his throbbing pulse.

“I know it seems sudden. But it's not so strange. I always knew I loved you. And I always _wanted_ you, in any way was possible. Friend. Partner. Fellow soldier. Brother in arms. It just grew and grew and grew inside me over the years; and when I saw that kiss, when you told me that he _loves_ you… I imagined the kind of things a man in love would want to _do_ to you and I… I realized I wanted that, too.”

“You know we’re nowhere near ready for any of _that_ , don’t you?”

Regretfully, he does know.

“A shit ton of talking, first?” he asks. And Bucky is unbearably gentle when he confirms:

“A shit ton of talking, first.”

“I love you,” Steve says. Clearly, firmly, a truth that will not be denied, won’t be questioned or secreted away any longer. Bucky gazes back at him, eyes wide with wonder but serene and content.

“I don’t doubt that,” he swears in a whisper. Steve hears the sincerity of that statement, but also its unspoken half, the tremulous fear of it: _but I can’t yet believe you’re also in love with me._

“We can go slow. We’ve waited so long, we can wait some more.”

Bucky’s smile dawns beautiful and wide.

“Slow sounds like a good plan,” he agrees, getting up on his feet.

Or.

He _would_ get up on his feet.

That was the honest plan.

But Steve tightens his arms and legs around him, clinging like a particularly stubborn specimen of ivy.

“ _Steve?_ ”

“So... would kissing in an empty spaceship for the next how many hours it’d take to reach a safe haven be considered slow, or…?”

“You’re not serious? Oh man, you _are_?” Bucky can’t help it. A deep look at Steve’s overtly-casual, slightly pink face, and he bursts out laughing. “And how do you expect me to set this baby flying, if you won’t let me up, hm?”

“Doesn’t it have voice controls?”

Bucky opens his mouth to answer. Snaps it close.

“ _Uh._ ”

A few clipped words, and Bucky has the engines turning up. A wave of pops like a hundred-thousand fourth-of-july crackers going off ripples up across the hull, and then the ship is off, weightless like a balloon, spearing through the sky like a hot blade.

Bucky sinks back into the floor, into Steve’s waiting arms, lips and fingers resuming their exploring dance, careful at first, then gaining confidence, time trickling away like molasses as they kiss and kiss and kiss.  


 

“ _Steve,_ ” Bucky manages, as the ship lowers itself soundlessly back into the ice of the Thunderbolts base an eternity later. He sinks his fingers through Steve’s hair, intent on tugging him away, but Steve pushes his head into the touch, needy as a cat. “ _Steve_ ,” he repeats, stealing a kiss, then another for good measure, another for luck, and a few more interspersed as he talks. “Steve, you’ll _have_ to let me go, eventually.”

Steve presses close, licks a stripe across Bucky’s bare shoulder, drops a kiss behind his ear, humming softly in response.

“Not unless they make me,” he says, tightening his grip. “They’ll have to pry me from your side. _I plan to never let you go._ ”

  
  


**- End **


	4. After-Credit Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every Marvel story deserving of this name needs an After-Credit Scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for this?! There’s no sequel planned at the moment, but do feel free to write one. :D

**Title:** Everything I (N)ever Wanted.

 **Author:** Nemesi.

 **Beta:** [Shirokou](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shirokou/profile)

 **Fandom:**  Captain America.

 **Continuity:** Comics verse. Post/Alternate Secret Empire Omega.

 **Genre:** Angst. Romance.

 **Word Count:** 107\. … … … It wasn’t on purpose, I swear.

 **Characters:** Steve Rogers, Hydra Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes.

 **Pairings:** Steve/Bucky and also Hydra Steve/Bucky.

 **Rating:** PG-13/soft R.

 **Disclaimer:** Marvel owns my soul, and also all the characters and themes herein portrayed. I'm putting everything back inside Marvel's sandbox as soon as I'm done playing with their toys.

 **Warnings:** HYDRA STEVE.

 **Notes:** I have no excuse for this?! There’s no sequel planned at the moment, but do feel free to write one. :D

 **Summary:** Every Marvel story deserving of this name needs an After-Credit Scene.

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* * * * *

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**After Credit Scene - The Hydra**

**S** teven Grant Rogers rubs his unshackled wrists as he steps out of the Shadow Pillar. Behind him unrolls a path of blood, the corpses of his Guards strewn in pieces along the corridor like discarded toys.

Outside, the sun blinds him. He shields his face with a red-coated hand. Blood drips down the side of it, drip, drip, dripping in a small rivulet down the angles of his face.

He licks the red stickiness off his lips when it reaches them, gazing into the distance like a pilgrim in search of his sacred place.

“Bucky,” he murmurs around a thin, elongated smile. “ _I’m coming, my love._ ”

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**\- 終わり**


End file.
